


write your letters in the sand

by kahl (orphan_account)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 39 fuckin BOPS, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst, Multi, Warning: Roger Taylor, a night at the opera, back to the tags, but like that's only brian being emo about space and stuff, speaking of which
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kahl
Summary: In 1975, The members of Queen went to Ridge Farm to record their fourth album, A Night at the Opera. It is considered one of the greatest rock albums of all time, with its magnum opus being Bohemian Rhapsody; a six-minute, Quasi-operatic masterpiece that will undoubtedly last a lifetime.Well, it would, if these idiots actually got anything done.(or a bunch of mini stories about 70s Queen fucking around at a farm)





	1. spider!

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is just a fluffy fic during the time when anato was being recorded bc SOMEBODY has to write roger taylor locking himself into a cupboard over his carfucking song
> 
> also paul prenter doesn't exist. this is a time of healing

_"Oooh, you make me live... whenever this world is cruel to me--"_

\--Freddie paused the music and hummed, his eyes trained methodically soundboards. He and Deaky have been hunched over the soundboards for at least an hour now, trying to root out any imperfection for the track. Usually, John would be on the couch, leaning back leisurely and pretending to listen to Roger. However, John felt a special connection to the song-- He wrote it for his wife, Veronica (though she adamantly wished that he call her Ronnie), and he wanted it to be inarguably perfect when it came out. Freddie was simply up here because he was a natural perfectionist. 

"Do I sound good? I don't sound very good, do I?" Freddie murmurs, breaking the pensive silence. His face depicted neither embarrassment nor pride. "Can I go back in? I'll record it again." 

"You sound fine." Roger says drily, without managing to look up from his magazine. 

They decided that it would be best to do some recording at night. If decided meant that all of them forgot about recording after excitedly running around the farm like a bunch of little boys and listening to old Jimi Hendrix tracks while Freddie informs you that he's totally not crying but that something got in his eye, and _then_ feeling guilty about not doing any recording for the whole day and which causes you to start recording at 12:09 in the morning. 

John makes a flat _'hmm'_ noise, leaning on his palm like some sort of philosopher. John was always quieter, though when he was thinking about music, no one could get him out of his little headspace. 

Freddie stood with his arms crossed for a few more exceeding moments before promptly clapping his hands as if to wake everyone up from their apparent fatigue. "Well, I'm going in to record one more time, so rise and shine." 

A collective groan chorused from all three other members of the group. 

"Oh please. That's the price of being a musician, darl--" The rest of Freddie's sentence was cut off by the jarring sound of an unholy scream that could leave even the most stoic of people frazzled. Roger bumped his head on the couch in shock. 

"What on Earth are you on about, Fred?" Brian tensed, his eyes wide from the sudden scream. 

_"Spider! There's a spider by the headset!"_ Freddie shrieked, now a great distance away from the dashboard. Deaky merely wheeled his rolling chair a foot or two back. 

"Oh for God's sake, it's a bloody farm! You should be ready for a little bug here and there." John said, snorting. Roger let out a little snicker in reply. 

"Fred, you have any other fears you need to tell us about? The dark? Heights? The company of a woman?" Roger taunts, but Freddie just shrieks ever the louder. 

"It moved! It's moving! It can see me!" Freddie cried, now heedlessly grabbing onto Brian's jacket as protection. 

"Bloody hell. It's just a spider," Brian says, rolling up his magazine to go kill it. "but if it's that much of a burden, then I'll kill it for you." 

Brian saunters over to the area where Freddie anxiously pointed toward. His eye scans the soundboard for a moment until he comes in contact (with all eight eyes) of the spider. It was a great, monstrous thing that Brian couldn't fully appreciate from where he was sitting down. The spider's legs were twitching close to him, and he stood in fear until it crawled a few more inches toward him. Brian threw Roger's magazine (his weapon of choice) to the ground and booked it to the exit. 

"Nope. Nope. Nope. Not today, Satan." Brian murmured to himself as he shut the door to the recording studio. 

"You can't leave us with this... thing! Brian, you come back here--" 

"He's halfway across the field." Deaky stated, looking longingly out the window. 

"...Motherfucker." Freddie sighed. 

\------------------------------------- 

"Okay, maybe if we just don't make any sudden movements, we can book it out of here." Freddie stated throughout deep breaths. 

Roger, evidently not listening, threw a throw pillow at the creature, triumphantly bellowing: "DIE DEMON SPIDER!" 

The spider, instead of dying, responded by jumping on the floor and swiftly crawling around. 

From that moment on, it was chaos. 

Roger kept tossing whatever was in closest proximity to him at the spider; vinyl, cushions, glasses of water, his hat, Deaky's hat... you name it. Freddie was quite audibly crying above the ground on one of the speakers, babbling nearly anything, to be honest. _'I can't die yet, I haven't even got to shag Burt Reynolds!', 'If I had just minded my own fucking business I would've never been in this stupid band anyway.',_ or _'Take Roger instead! Blondes taste better!'_. John seemed to be writing a letter, as he stood on a chair. Maybe it was to Ronnie, or maybe his mother. He never clarified. 

_Crash!_

The room fell silent for a moment. Roger seemed to have thrown one of his snare drums, which crackled as it slammed right atop the spider. Freddie, John, and Roger all exchanged glances. Nobody was going to remove the drum. Nobody was going to tell anybody about what repulsive creature lived below. Maybe it would die of starvation and by the time it passed, everyone would have already forgotten it. 

They were simply going to walk out, and never speak a word of this again. 

And that's what they did. 

\------------------------------------- 

It wasn't until tomorrow afternoon that they finished the single. 

The song, lovingly deemed "You're my Best Friend" delighted John and his wife, and even Freddie was proud of it too. It was a sweet little tune that was a wonderful way to start the long recording process of the rest of the album. The four members of Queen re-entered the music studio, ready to record their next song. 

"So you say it's called I'm in Love with my Car...?" Brian snorts, skeptically. Roger nods enthusiastically. 

John folds his arms and huffs. "He showed me the lyrics last night. It's weird, even for Roger weird." Freddie lets out a loud laugh at that. 

Roger took offense to Deaky's remark, though his enthusiasm remained. He swung open the door and skipped over to his drum set as if he were a child on Christmas Day. He grabbed his drumsticks, only to find the absence of a snare drum. 

"Hey, anyone knows where my snare drum would be?" Roger said absentmindedly. 

Freddie eyes the snare drum lying ominously on the ground from yesterday. It hasn't moved an inch. Freddie cringes at the thought of that spider being secretly alive. What would it do? Would it jump? Would it eat Brian? "Rog, darling, how about you check the back for a spare?" 

Brian picked up his guitar with a grunt and tuned the squawking instrument into it's normal, melodic self. "Why don't we just use the one on the floor right there?" 

John and Freddie immediately pivoted at the sound of that, scurrying toward the drum. 

"Brian, NO--"


	2. camping! (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Freddie, Brian and Roger go camping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this short story is a bit longer so it's gonna come in two parts ;)

"Camping?" Freddie says skeptically as he swirls sugar cubes into his tea. "Why would I ever want to do that?"

"C'mon Fred, it'll be fun!" Brian stands up from his chair, beginning to paint the picture of the night through wild hand gestures. "Just us four and the great outdoors! We can explore the expansive acres of Ridge Farm. Sleep on the hay, start a campfire, sing some camp tunes, look at the stars! It'll be just fine."

"Fun." Freddie snorts. "Fun? No electricity is fun? No indoor plumbing is fun? Getting attacked by mosquitos, _oh,_ I'm practically foaming at the mouth of how fun _that_ sounds."

"We could have roasted marshmallows over the fire. S'mores are John's favorite." Roger suggests, a coffee cup casually intertwined between his fingers. John and Brian both nod frantically. 

Freddie stares at all them straight in the eyes with nothing but pure, unadulterated confusion. "What in bloody hell is a marshmallow?" 

John and Roger gasp, their drinks slipping from their hands. Brian just looks hurt, like he had stepped on his childhood stuffed animal or something. They all stood there in silence, Freddie becoming slightly less amused with their looks of sheer horror. 

John was the first to speak up. "So you're meaning to tell us... that you've never had a marshmallow before?" 

"How have you survived this far in life knowing that your childhood was brutally taken from you?" Roger implores, ignoring the shattering sound that was undoubtedly the coffee cup he'd dropped. 

"I went to boarding school darling; as if the absence of marshmallows had anything to do with my lack of a childhood." Freddie sips his tea, expecting his snide comment to lighten the mood a bit. The other three band members were still looking at him as if he were a homeless infant. However foreign it may seem to them, Freddie truly has never tried a marshmallow before. In Zanzibar, his family barely managed to get by. There were no treats, no spoiling, and everyone had to pitch in in order for the good of the family. In boarding school, there were a strict three meals a day. No midnight snacks, no it's-too-early-for-dinner-but-I'm-still-hungry-after-lunch meals. When his family moved to England, it was the same circumstances as Zanzibar. Freddie's family only came in with the clothes on their back and whatever they could carry. He was either working or out at the bar, and god forbid, he never got around to eating a marshmallow. 

"Nope, it's settled. You're going camping with us tonight and you're going to try a marshmallow, that's final." Brian concluded, earning him a high-pitched whine from Freddie. 

\------------------------------------- 

The four men began their camping adventure just as the sun began to graze the horizon. They found an open area in the midst of the wooded area of the farm and set up camp there. After a long argument about whether the small sticks go below the big kindling or above them, they eventually managed to get a fire going too. Deaky brought graham crackers and chocolate, and Roger brought the infamous marshmallows. 

Freddie was unnerved by the rustling of the trees and the buzzing of cicadas. Every now and again, however, a firefly would reassuringly light up their little patch of grass before blinking off again. Sparks of flame and strings of smoke flew up to the budding night sky, illuminating their own little circle of the woods. 

"See Fred! Look how beautiful the night is! We would've missed out on this." Brian says, gesticulating toward the now star-speckled sky. Freddie hums, flipping his hair as a means of response. 

Roger clapped his hands loudly to get everyone's attention. He was now looming over the fire, a devious smile prying his lips. "Before we begin with the marshmallows, I believe it is fair that we begin with a campfire necessity; a scary story. Deaky, if you would put down the bag of marshmallows that'd be much appreciated." 

Everyone turned to John. He sighed and tied the bag shut, not before sneaking in two more in his mouth, though. 

"Thank you. Brian, cue the lights." 

"We're outside." Brian states, bemused. 

_"The flashlight, Brian."_ Roger whisper-yells. Brian rolls his eyes playfully and hands him the flashlight, to which Roger flickered for dramatic flair. 

"Now the story you're about to hear is a true story passed down in the Taylor family from generation to generation. This is the tale of Old Man Taylor and his wife, Mrs. Taylor." Roger begins darkly, holding the flashlight under his chin. "It starts out when Mrs. Taylor finds out that Old Man Taylor was cheating on her with another woman, and--" 

"Oh so that's where you get your sluttiness from." Freddie interrupted. 

"It was _one_ time. I flirted with your sister _one_ time." Roger exclaims. Freddie scoffed. "Anyway, as I was saying, she got really mad, so she went out into the woods to cool off. Woods that looked just like _this_!" 

John gasped melodramatically. Freddie simply rolled his eyes. 

"To make sure that she wouldn't get lost, she brought a big stick to make a trail behind her so she could find a way out. Though that would prove unnecessary; a huge storm swept over England, and washed the trail away... she was lost!" 

"Then what happened?" Brian said, a little too quickly. 

"Without the trail, she wasn't able to find her way out of the forest. She went insane and eventually died by a strike of lightning. Though she wasn't done... she came back, to get _revenge_!" 

John was both holding on for dear life on Freddie's arm. Freddie remained unphased by the story and even added a yawn for good measure. 

"Her spirit haunted Old Man Taylor, and eventually drove him and his wife to their death. When their child, my great, great, great, great, great, gre--" 

"We get it." 

"--right. When he got married, the ghost of Mrs. Taylor began to haunt him and everyone he loved! Though he found a way to protect himself from the ghost..." Roger held up a necklace, the cheeky smile on his face growing. 

"This locket protects me from anything Mrs. Taylor and any effects her haunting may have on me. You guys, however, as trespassers in her sacred forest..." 

John's eyes widened and he turned to Freddie. Freddie, a little tenser than his previous nonchalant self, ran his hand through his hair before answering. "T-that's ridiculous! There's no bloody _Mrs. Taylor_ or anything of the sort." 

"Oh yes there is, Fred." Roger murmurs, his voice low with intensity. "She's real, and she's coming. When you hear the noise of a stick _trawling_ through the mud... that's how you know it's too late." 

"Fred, Roger's great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother's ghost is going to drive us bonkers and kill us with a muddy stick!" John quivers, still clinging to Freddie's arm like a magnet. 

"Roger, look what you've done to Deaky!" Freddie sighed. "It's okay, darling, there's no evil blonde lady coming to kill u--" 

"--shh." Roger stopped. For a moment, the only noise was the fire crackling and the humming of the trees. "Did you guys hear that?" 

_"Hear what? What are you talking about?!"_ John blurted, Freddie having to calm him down again. 

Roger went quiet again. The silence was soon filled by a familiar sound. 

_Sssssk! Ssssssk! Ssssssk!_

By now, both Freddie and John were shivering like children in the wintertime. The noise grew louder still. 

_Sssssk! Ssssssk! Sssssssk!_

"Erm, excuse me? Undead paranormal ghost woman? Would you care for a spot of tea? We could simply go back indoors, chat like a-adults!" John utters, looking anxiously around him. 

_Sssssk! Ssssssk! Sssssssk!_

__After that last one, there was silence. No one spoke. The trees even stopped their humming for a moment._ _

__"See. There's no such thing as Mrs. Taylor." Freddie declares, his confidence returning._ _

__"Hey Freddie?"_ _

__"Yes, John?"_ _

__"Where's Brian?"_ _

__Freddie's smile dropped completely, and the silence returned once again. "You know what? Why don't I try a marshmall--"_ _

__"Wraaaaah!" Brian leaped out of the bushes, a blonde wig draped sloppily over his slinky black curls. His face was covered in makeup to complete the illusion of him being a dead woman, and he was wearing an old dress that was dirtied and ripped._ _

__Freddie shrieked, jumping up promptly and giving Brian the hardest possible boxer punch he could muster. Brian fell to the ground, and Freddie continued to kick him out of fear._ _

__"You!" Freddie gave him another kick. "Will!" Another kick. "Not!" Yet another kick. "Haunt!" Kick. "Me!" Kick. "Demon!"_ _

__John was screaming throughout the spectacle, and Roger's face was as red as a ripe tomato with laughter. Brian was trying to tell Freddie that it was him, and not some demon ghost woman, but he was only drowned out by the noise._ _

__"Freddie! It's me, Brian! I'm not Roger's demon ancestor! Roger thought it'd be funny if I scared you!"_ _

__Freddie's ears pricked upward and he immediately stopped with the kicking. Brian wheezed, trying to catch his breath back. Roger was now on the floor, cackling until he had no more breath to laugh with. John was rocking back and forth, holding his legs close to his face and murmuring. He looked traumatized._ _

__"I fucking _hate_ camping!" Freddie announced before sitting beside Brian._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! part two is coming soon sjfhkjgskj
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated wink wonk
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


	3. camping! (part 2)

Brian held a homemade ice pack tenderly to his hip, hissing quietly at the touch. Two napkins were stuffed up his nostrils to hold up the bleeding that Freddie's solid punch had brought, along with a warm washcloth on his shoulder to ease the aching. Roger was also nursing a wound with an icepack; he'd slipped and fallen backward in the mud during his laughing fit. 

Now, the fire crackled awkwardly as the four men stared into it; every once in a while, it stirred when Brian threw some more dry tinder into the fire. 

Deaky was the first to speak up. "I think it's time for Freddie to try a roasted marshmallow now." 

"Alright everyone, find a good marshmallow stick." Brian added, grunting as he stood. Roger and John got up and began sprinting down the field, as they had eyes on the same stick. Freddie simply sat in confusion, fiddling with his fingers. 

"What would we need a stick for?" 

"You put the marshmallow on the stick, Fred." Brian replies, much to Freddie's horror. 

"You _eat_ the stick?" Freddie cried. 

Before Brian got a chance to reply, the other two returned, each of them holding onto the one end of the same stick. They were arguing back and forth as if the stick that they were holding was the only one in the vicinity. They both turned to Brian, rapidly talking over each other to get their point across. 

Brian hushed them both, but Roger interjected nonetheless. "John _saw_ that I grabbed the stick first. He _saw_ it. It's mine." 

Brian shifted to John as if he was waiting for his response. John shrugged simply. "I called dibs." 

"Did he call dibs?" Brian questions. 

"I had the stick first!" Roger wails, his voice getting higher in tone. 

"I mean... he called dibs." Freddie murmurs. Brian nods as if it were a valid point. 

"You're kidding." Roger groans, finally releasing the stick. John beams excitedly, jabbing the marshmallow through the stick and letting it char. Roger grumbles to find some more sticks. 

When he returns, he tosses one to Freddie (who yelps and fumbles before getting a firm catch on it) and plops down onto a log. He sticks his marshmallow directly into the fire, earning a gasp from Brian as his marshmallow singes. 

"Roger, what the _hell_ are you doing?" 

"The best marshmallows are the burnt ones, Brian. Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside. You're not a man of culture, such as I." Roger snorts, placing a hand on his chest for drama. 

Freddie held his stick hesitantly. "So I just... stick it in the fire?" 

"No, Fred. You let it roast a little bit _above_ the fire." Brian explains, gesturing to John. John's marshmallow dangled just over the dancing flames; every once in a while a flicker of orange would brush up against the treat. Once he was done, it reflected off an even tone of golden brown. Once Roger's was done, however, what used to be a marshmallow was now a charred, gooey mess. He had just barely managed to catch the falling marshmallow in-between the graham crackers and chocolate. 

Freddie stuck his marshmallow slightly above the swirling flame, just as Brian and Deaky did. He eventually took his finished marshmallow out of the scorching heat, examining it. He took a bite, and his eyes flew open. He had never tasted anything so good in his _life_. His eyelids fluttered with ecstasy, involuntarily letting out a groan of pleasure. 

"Are you getting off on the marshmallows, Fred?" Roger joked, which would've usually earned him a glare, though Freddie was too occupied. 

"Shut up and hand me another one." He said promptly. 

John tossed him another, to which Freddie readily caught. This time he put it directly into the campfire as Roger claps excitedly. Freddie only pulls it out when the marshmallow has streams of smoke stemming from it and is completely consumed in black char. Once it cools, Freddie plucks it from the stick and pops it in his mouth with a crunch. He runs his hand through his hair, earning another moan and a hushed curse. 

"Could you _please_ stop feeding him marshmallows." Brian grumbles, slightly uncomfortable with the moaning. 

"I can't help it, darling. These are just too good." Freddie sighs after his third. 

"Wait until he tries a s'more." Deaky snorts. 

Freddie turns eager toward John, his eyes elated. "What's a s'more?" 

\------------------------------------- 

The fire had long since gone out, and the plastic marshmallow bag had been carried off through the wind. The rustling of the trees had ceased, the nightly fireflies had even gone to sleep, but the four men were still awake, lying on their back and gazing at the stars. 

"Look." Freddie whispers, lazily pointing upward. "It's the Big Dipper." 

"No, it's not." Brian assured. 

"Yeah, Fred. That's not the big dipper. That's Ursa Major." Roger informs, matter-of-factly. 

"Ursa Major and the Big Dipper are the same constellation." Brian chuckles, not being able to contain his laughter. "No, no. Fred's looking at the Little Dipper. Over _there_ is the Big Dipper." 

"I don't see it." John yawned. 

Brian shifted in his little spot on the grass. "About three stars away from the moon. Right there." Brian continues, pointing toward the three stars. There was a moment of silent confusion held among the three until it clicked. 

"Oooooooh." The three chorused. Brian giggles quietly. 

"Wait, well where's the North Star?" Freddie asks, sleep starting to weigh on his tone. 

"Polaris is at the handle end of Ursa Minor." Brian states. 

"...okay how about in English?" Freddie asks again. 

"The North Star is right there. At the end of the Little Dipper." John snorts in reply. 

The four remained there without saying another word to each other; they were simply breathing at the moment. Their usual recording studio was in London and the only thing visible in the sky there was fog and looming buildings overhead. Though this time, the four had finally gotten the chance to see something that should've been effortless to see... the sky right above them. Well, at least the sky like this. 

A shooting star careens across the freckled night, coaxing a gasp from all four members of the band. 

"What did you guys wish for?" Roger inquired. 

"To be happy." 

"For a family with Ronnie." 

"To find someone to love unconditionally." 

Roger's eyes widened. "Wow. Goddamn. I feel bad about my wish now." 

"What'd you wish for?" Brian bemused. 

"...A really nice new car." 

"Oh for fuck's sake." Freddie cackles. The whole group broke into a fit of giggles, little whispers and side comments. They stayed chattering like this until Brian was the only one awake, looking up longingly at the expansive sky. 

He quietly scourged his back pocket for his notebook and worn pencil. Flipping to an open page, he began to swiftly jot down lyrics to a song that had been almost forgotten about. He occasionally looked at the stars, as if they were his muses, before beginning to write again. 

"Write your letters in the sand?" 

Brian jolted with surprise, turning to reveal that Freddie was awake and looking over his shoulder. The two shared a look before Freddie inevitably decided to lighten the mood. 

"What? Darling, I'm a light sleeper you mustn't blame me." He whispers, eyeing the paper. "Well, are you going to let me see or...?" 

Brian tentatively hands him the tiny notebook, and Freddie peruses quietly. Why was he taking so long? Did he not like it? It was hard to tell those types of things with Freddie. 

"Look it's not that good but--" 

"It's great." Freddie interrupts, the dopiest smile draping his lips. "It's absolutely wonderful, that's what it is." 

Brian takes his notebook back, biting back a grin of his own. "Really?" 

" _Yes,_ really. What's the title?" 

Brian sits there for a moment, contemplating between two titles. "39," Brian concludes, a satisfied air about him. "Yeah, '39." 

Freddie hums. "39 it is. We should put it on the album." 

Brian drops his pencil in surprise, turning to meet Freddie's eyes again. " _This_ album? As in _A Night at the Opera?_ " 

"Of course, dear, is there another one were making? Besides, it's good enough, and I'm pretty sure if Roger gets to say 'yeehaw' than he'll vouch for anything." Brian laughs quietly at Freddie's comment. 

"Hey Fred?" 

"Hm?" 

"Thanks." Brian murmurs, his eyes getting heavier. Just before there was enough silence for Brian to doze off, Freddie responds. 

"Hey Brian?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I still hate camping." Freddie adds cheekily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sfhvdkfjsf this one is a little more sweet than funny but whatever
> 
> also 39 gets all my uwu's
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!


	4. pillow wars!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy day game of Scrabble becomes an all out pillow war.

"Oh my God, Freddie. 'Hoo’ is not a word." 

"Of _course_ 'Hoo’ is a word, Brian. I've earned my fifty points, Brian." Freddie snorts, as if the word was commonplace. 

It was raining. The four men were crowded together on the living room floor, hunching over a game of Scrabble. Usually they’d all be in their different rooms; Freddie would be mouthing the words to an old Mae West movie, Roger and Deaky complaining about the size of their rooms over the phone, and Brian fiddling with his 12-string. Though a thunderous clap of the storm cut the power, and now they were here, in the dark living room, only illuminated by a flashlight. 

"Use ‘Hoo' in a sentence." Brian conceded.

Freddie thought for a moment. “ _Hoo_ do you think you are to determine what’s a word and what's not?” 

Deaky giggled loudly, only stopping when Brian threw him a glare. “...sorry.” Deaky murmured, biting his lip. 

Brian grabbed a dictionary, flipping fervently through the pages. He softly whispered the words as he flipped past each page; he was keeping track. He stopped turning pages; his pupils scanning the page as they went left to right. He eventually stopped, letting out a sigh. Freddie beamed and snatched the book in his lap. There it was, in black ink. 

_Hoo —used chiefly to express an emotional reaction (as of surprise or triumph) or as a call._

”Hoo! Fifty points!” Freddie cheers. 

Brian rolls his eyes, picking up a letter. He begins to place it over the board when a boom of thunder bellowed, shaking the board and earning a shriek from Roger. All the pieces scattered after the four of them jumped with surprise. Roger emitted a groan. 

”So no Scrabble, then.” Deaky says, his brows furrowing in annoyance. 

Roger and Brian began assembling the pieces in the bag and folding the board. After the box was finally closed, the four of them sat in silence. 

”...Wanna hear another scary stor—“ 

”No!” Freddie and Deaky snapped, earning another giggle from Roger. 

”Okay fine.” Roger stopped, thinking for a moment. Suddenly, his blue eyes lit up. He had an idea. Whenever Roger had an idea, that means someone else in the band would probably regret it, either now or later. “How about we build a pillow fort?” 

The three other men gasped. It was as if each of their inner child had been awakened. They looked at each other, a newfound twinkle in their eye, and scrambled to get a bunch of cushions and pillows. 

\------------------------------------- 

John was hiding behind his fort, his eyes closed, clenching onto his pillow in fear. He could hear footsteps gently tapping closer to him, but he refused to have himself away. 

Sure, this whole pillow fort thing started out innocent; there was giggling, flashlights, gossip. Then, Roger and Freddie amazingly got into a heated argument on whether to expand the pillow kingdom of Cushionlandia over to the kitchen. Roger grabbed a pillow, and striked Freddie in the stomach. From that point on, it was war. Deaky didn’t know how he and Brian got swamped up into this, but Brian found his way to Roger’s side, and John was dragged away by Freddie. 

Thinking the pillow battle had mellowed, John opened his eyes and began to scoot a little bit above their fortress. He was horribly wrong. Freddie ran into their room, screeching bloody murder. He slid behind the blanket wall, heaving for air. 

He looked awful. His hair was feral and messy, with a pillow feather stuck between the once silky locks. His eyes were wide with horror. His lips were either quivering or he was murmuring to himself. Freddie turned slowly to John, putting his hands on his shoulders and shaking him. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, John. There are monsters out there, you hear me? Monsters. Brian and Roger? They’re gone. Gone!” 

”Freddie, _what_ are you talking about?” John whispers, now terrified of the ‘monsters’. 

”It’s war out there, John. You’re too young! Too young...” 

John slapped Freddie on his cheek to stop his nonsensical speech. “Get it together, soldier! You’re rambling!” 

Freddie shook his head back and forth, regaining his head. “You’re right. You’re right, we got this. We will never surrender the land of Freddieaky to the evils of the Northern Empire of Cushionlandia!” He bellowed, a newfound confidence embrewed into his voice. Deaky nods proudly. The two of them stand up, grabbing two pillows each and shuffling out of their territory. 

”Roger, if you fail to surrender now, we will have no choice but to use brute force.” Freddie warned. A shrill laugh was heard, though no one was visible to accompany it— Roger was hiding. 

As the two solicitously edged into the living room, John turned swiftly as soon as he heard a stepping noise. It was Brian, and he looked tired. He was holding an old book, and a half filled cup of tea. Two black streaks of paint sat on both sides of his cheeks, as if he were an American football player. Freddie began to scream and swing his pillow when Brian simply put down his mug and held up his hands in surrender. 

”I’m not playing, I’m just trying to get some tea.” He explains, plopping onto the cushionless couch. 

Freddie narrowed his eyes, but put down the pillow. “Where’s Roger?” 

”Hell if I know. When I told him I didn’t want to play because of how traumatized you looked, he called me a traitor and then proceeded to crawl into the fort.” Brian replies, not looking up from his book. 

John and Freddie’s eyes met, then they stared at the monstrous fort, leaning against the wall. Some blankets shuffled and jostled as a figure moves around in the fort. The two men clench their pillows and refuse to move. 

”Roger,” Freddie singsonged, “come out, come out wherever you are.” 

It was at that moment that Roger jumped out from the fluffy fort, yelling with a pillow in hand. Freddie dropped his pillow and bolted out of the room, screeching out curses and nonsense. Deaky violently swung his pillow at Roger’s head, earning an unnaturally loud banging noise that made even Brian cringe from how painful it sounded. Roger stayed there, on the floor, motionless. 

Deaky could care less as he heaved and punched his fists in the air with victory. “The beast is dead... Long live Freddieaky!” He bellows. Brian looks up from his book, his brows furrowing concernedly. 

“...not to steal your moment or anything, but I don’t think he’s moving.” Brian states, poking Roger with his slipper. 

John snapped out of whatever warrior trance he was in, dropping his pillow and leaning over Roger to listen if he was okay. There was a concerning silence, and Brian and John looked at each other with the dooming uncertainty of the fact that John may have murdered their drummer with a pillow. 

After a second or two further, the reassuring rise and fall of Roger’s chest became audible. He was breathing. 

The two sighed with relief in unison. _”Oh thank God.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but the part with john and freddie at the pillow fort? the entirety of the pacific shdjekshdndl
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


	5. the drunken chapter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John all get really drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably the most pointless but i had the most fun writing it

"I just... don't understand why it's all alone. Where are is their family? Their friends?" Freddie sniffled, downing another glass of vodka. His voice was barely recognizable through the drunken slur of his voice and the ugly sobbing. "Hello? Mr. Chicken? Where is your family? _Hello?_ " 

The four members of Queen lie on the crackling grass, particularly drunker than they should be, yelling at a lone chicken. Not even two hours ago they were in the studio, recording and experimenting with ideas back and forth. However, due to John's unfortunate discovery of Freddie's secret stash of Stolichnaya, they haven't been doing any real recording since three o' clock. 

"Chickens don't..." Roger paused, his face distorting. He stayed cringing until a loud burp gave him the satisfaction to continue speaking. "Chickens don't speak English, Fred. You gotta talk like a chicken to get through to a chicken." Roger stood up, his knees bucking together awkward. His elbows jutted behind his back and his hands stuck out as his arms were chicken wings. Roger squatted and shrieked loudly, trying to imitate a chicken's call. 

"Bak! Bok Bok Buh-Cock!" Roger chirps, waddling around the startled chicken. 

John giggled lowly whilst he leaned on Brian's shoulder. "You..." His speech becomes an unidentifiable mixture of giggles and hiccups. "You said cock." 

The four of them broke into loud, obnoxious laughter. Freddie was still crying. "Guys. Guys. Guys. Guys. You guys." Brian mumbled, repeatedly tapping John's arm. 

"Mmm?" 

"We should like... go inside because--" Brian hiccuped. "--we'll like... die if we don't get inside because we're like... drunk." 

The three other members nodded as if what Brian was saying wasn't alcohol-induced rambling, but sagacious, wise advice. John was, impressively, the first to get up. The other three tried to hoist themselves upward, but Deaky inevitably had to yank them to their feet, from where they made the journey to the house. 

\------------------------------------- 

About three bottles and an unknown amount of hours later, the four of them were crowded in the living room with _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ , spinning on the record. John was nowhere to be seen. 

The third track of the album began, earning a gasp from the three remaining members gasped. 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' was their favorite track. The three of them mumbled through the verse until the chorus came, to which they screamed as loud as their lungs would allow. 

"SHUT UP!" A voice bellowed from upstairs. The three did indeed shut up. Out of curiosity, Brian stopped the record and simply listened. There was a loud thumping noise coming from the stairs, almost like falling. The three of them barged through the living room, bumping and all, and made their way to the staircase. On the ground proceeding the first step, John was lying there; he was wearing a bright yellow, flowy sunflower dress and in one hand he was holding a bottle of Stolichnaya. 

"John... why do you have a dress on?" 

"Shuh uh-p. I'm a pre'y lady." John murmured, his voice rendered into an inarticulate jumble. His voice, even when sober, was different from anyone in England; even anyone from Leicestershire. 

"No, John." Brian shook his head, his slinky curls bouncing. "You're John." 

"I'M A PRETTY LADY!" John announced, louder. 

Freddie whined, beginning to sniffle. "I wanna be a pretty lady." He huffed, crossing his arms and pouting. Roger did the same. 

"There are..." John paused to let out this weird mixture of a hiccup and a burp. A hicurp, if you will. "...more dresses u'stairs I think." 

Freddie and Roger squealed and Brian gulped down another red solo cup of vodka. The three of them dragged Deaky upstairs, his voice garbling everytime his head hit the steps. Once they made it up, they raided the closet. Roger pulled out a boxy dress which had to be at least ten years old, Brian found a multi-colored, polyester jumpsuit with a chunky pearl necklace, and Freddie somehow managed to dig up a wedding dress that's age had proceeded Roger's. 

"Freddie, who're ya gettin' married to?" Roger's voice became more muddled after his umpteenth cup of alcohol. 

"You should get married to the chicken so..." Another pause to hiccup. "...he won't be lonely anymore." 

Freddie gasped, dropping his cup in the process. "JOHN." He grabbed John's face, squishing his cheeks together. "YOU GENIUS." 

Roger sniffled, wiping an actual tear from his cheekbone. "Can we be tha bridesmaids?" He slurred, and Freddie nodded enthusiastically. 

\------------------------------------- 

The wedding took place in the barn. Brian, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a terrified chicken in the other, was to be the priest. Roger threw dead grass and weeds in the haphazardly put together path. John played his own, drunken rendition of 'Here Comes the Bride', whilst missing half the notes due to crying hysterically. The whole place reeked of hay and animal feces, and flies buzzed around the chicken as if they were in orbit. Though in the eyes of the four men, it was a celebration of love and the most beautiful wedding that could be provided. 

Freddie walked (more like traipsed) down the 'aisle', a bagel wrapped around his finger like a ring, and met face to face with his newfound husband, the chicken. 

Brian gulped down a bit more of his drink before clearing his throat to speak. "Bearly Deloved," He began intelligently, "We are gathered here today to celebrate a..." He burped. "...a joining of two soulmates. Fred and Mr. Chicken." 

John and Roger cheered, throwing hay and clapping. 

"We will now begin with the vows. Mr. Chicken, the floor is yours." 

The chicken was terrified. It had no idea what was happening, and it simply wanted to go back to a life of shitting everywhere and being stupid. It let out a one, long, ugly squawk. 

Freddie burst out into tears. "That... was so beautiful, darling." He managed in between sobs. Roger and Deaky were hugging each other, crying as well. 

"Wonderful, Mr. Chicken. You have a way with words." Brian praised, turning to Freddie. "Freddie, it is now your turn to do the thingy." 

"Mr. Chicken," Freddie began, taking Brian's bottle to sip a bit. He began to giggle because 'chicken' was a funny word. "Chicken is a funny word." He repeats. The four of them giggle immaturely for a good two minutes. 

Brian silenced everyone with a burp. "Alright. Mr. Chicken, you may now kiss the bride." 

Freddie leaned in, inviting the chicken. Clearly uncomfortable, the chicken leans it's neck back as far as it can provide before Freddie kisses the chicken square on its beak. The chicken, thoroughly uncomfortable, screams and waddles away on its little, clawed feet. 

"Runaway groom!" Roger bellows, dropping all his weeds and wildflowers to pursue a chase. He completes three steps before he collapses into sleep. The other three fall asleep not long after. 

\------------------------------------- 

Brian wakes up first. A loud, painful thumping fills his head. He can barely even move because of his pounding headache, through he hoists himself into sitting up straight. Around him is a confusing display of weeds and hay, John's bass, chicken feathers, and bottles and bottles of Stolichnaya. The other three lay on various spots of the barn floor and Freddie was wearing a wedding dress. _Why on earth was he wearing a dress?_ In fact, they were _all_ wearing dresses. 

_Oh god, we must've gotten drunk._ Brian thought, downpours of questions clogging his head. _Did we ever finish recording? How long ago was that? What time is it now? How did we end up in a barn? Why is Freddie wearing a wedding dress? Who did he get married to? How did Deaky's bass get here? Why is my headache so bad? Whe--_

Roger's yawn interrupted Brian's train of thought with another jarring moment of his headache. He murmured something that sounded like 'Good Morning', though due to his head and his mumbling he couldn't be sure. 

"Do you remember anything that happened last night?" Brian whispered. 

Roger looked around, taking in his surroundings. Silence flooded into the room for a moment. He finally shrugged dopily and flopped backward, lying down once more. "Nope." He sighed, simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> freddie x chicken is the only valid queen ship
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!!
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


	6. cooking, with queen!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four members have a long talk with Miami after 'having a meal'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally only wrote this bc i love miami so much u guys he's so valid skjhekfhdaskc

The four men were hunched over the telephone, the machine buzzing into Deaky's ear. Their eyes darted about anxiously as they waited for a voice on the other line. 

Finally, the other line picked up. "Hello?" 

Freddie snatched the phone from John's clasp, earning a small whine from the man. "Oh thank God Miami, you picked up. Okay, so if Paul sues us, you would represent us, right dear?" 

The lawyer was at a loss of words. "Yes of course--What did you--Why are you talking about this at 3 o' clock in the morning?" 

"It's a long story." Brian heaves, taking the phone from Freddie. 

"Okay, you don't have to tell me just--" Miami stopped talking when he heard bickering on the other line. His brows furrowed, blatantly unamused. 

"No, shut up. I'm talking." Freddie concluded, before snatching the phone one final time. "Let me tell you how this all happened..." 

\------------------------------------- 

_It was a painfully hot night outside. The grass presented a hue of a pale, starved green from when the sun mercilessly beat down upon the farm. It felt like you were breathing in _fire_ outside, darling. So the four of us were inside, trying to find ways to relieve the heat. We had ice-bags, the windows were all flown open, and we were absolutely abusing those cute little fans we got from our Japan tour. Needless to say, it was absolute hell outside--_

\------------------------------------- 

Roger let out a sigh, through the phone. "Freddie, you don't have to give details of every little tree branch. Just summarize what happened." 

"I'm setting the scene, Roger. God, you must be no fun at parties." 

"I am the _most fun_ at parties, you know that." Roger gritted through his teeth. 

The two of them shared a very inconsistent argument. The topic went from grammar to music to who snores to the loudest. Brian snatched the phone from Freddie and Roger, putting everyone out of there misery. The two eventually came to a truce, which Miami heard through bits and pieces on the phone. "Anyway," Roger began, apparently gaining control on the phone once more. 

\------------------------------------- 

_The four of us were plopped on the couch, watching Julia Child. She was making Crêpes Suzette, and we were all in the mood for something to eat. So John thought it would be a good idea to make some for ourselves. I repeat, John thought it would be a good idea. John. Not me._

_So we got everything together; the eggs, the orange juice, the sugar, olive oil, and of course, the French liqueur and the crêpe ingredients. Then--_

\------------------------------------- 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but this has been getting on my nerves. It's pronounced crêpe." Freddie chided, emphasis on the 'c'. 

"Yeh, Fred, that's what I said." Roger replies flatly. 

"No, you said 'crape'. It's supposed to be 'crepe'." John explains, giving the same emphasis on the 'c' as Freddie had. 

"Does it really matter?" Miami exhaled, only to be greeted back with Freddie and Deaky violently answering 'YES'. He huffed before Roger continued. 

\------------------------------------- 

_The crêpes weren't the problem. It was quite like making pancakes, actually. The issue was the sauce. Julia made it look so easy; just pour the liqueur, sugar, and orange juice into the pan and wait until it gets syrupy. Though _Freddie_ insisted that we should do it 'as Julia did on the tele', which meant we turn the fire up to an unbearable heat, and flambé it as if we were the Royal chef._

_The others, of course, thought this was a bloody brilliant idea. I rationally advised against it, but no one listened. As the hot, now practically burning syrup bubbled over the pan, the liqueur eventually caught on fire. We panicked._

\------------------------------------- 

"Stop." Miami uttered, no longer sounding bored. "The four of you, if I'm correct, decided to replicate the crêpe recipe of a top, French chef at ungodly hours of the morning, and set fire to Paul's kitchen." 

"That is exactly what happened." Roger smiles, earning a glare from the three other men. 

"Listen, I had nothing to do with this." Roger assures innocently. Deaky scoffs and Brian snatches the phone. 

"I'm telling the story now because Roger 'I take no responsibility' Meddows Taylor is forgetting about a key part." He grumbles. 

\------------------------------------- 

_When the fire started, the four of us were thrown into a frenzy. We scoured for anything that could put out the expanding flames. _Roger_ , ever the brainiac, decided to put water on an _oil fire_ which made everything exceedingly worse than it had been before. The fire grew and Freddie, Roger, and I ran out of the house._

\------------------------------------- 

"...I don't know anything past that." Brian admitted, handing the phone to Deaky. 

The three band members had their eyes locked on Deaky, wide with fascination. They didn't hear his view of the story yet, especially since he had the most interesting one; he was the one who put out the fire. 

"Extinguisher." John says simply. 

"You could've made up any lie in the world, make yourself look like a war hero, and instead you just say 'extinguisher'?" Freddie questions, his brow raised in amusement. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I had no idea everything had to be a production." John cleared his throat, as a warning of a long, long story ahead. 

\------------------------------------- 

_Due to the departure of my good-for-nothing bandmates, I was faced with the tremendous task of taming the ever-growing grease fire. I ripped off my shirt, showing off my glistening sixteen-pack, and grabbed the nearest extinguisher. Once I put out the fire from hell, I got a golden key from the mayor, and a model wanted me to take her home. Thousands of cheering fans screamed my name. 'Bass is the coolest instrument ever!' a man shouts. He was right. I became the--_

\------------------------------------- 

"Okay, we're stopping this now." Miami interrupts. 

The three of them were laughing loudly for a good minute before they were able to speak coherent words again. 

"Okay, so, Miami. If Paul were to sue us, would you be able to go to court on our behalf?" Roger asks. 

Miami groans in response. "It's not like I have a choice, but maybe you should apologize to Prenter instead of coming to me about crepes and fires at 3 o'clock in the morning." He concludes, just before the line went flat. He'd hung up. 

The four of them sat in silence, all looking at each other. 

"...talking to Paul?" Brian cringes, breaking the silence. 

"Ew." John and Roger both say in unison, earning an eye roll from Freddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *billy joel voice* WE DIDN'T START THE FIRE! IT'S BEEN ALWAYS B
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


	7. jinx!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Roger just discovered what 'jinx' was, and no one should have ever given them that power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the stupidest fucking chapter

The four band members were sharing an oddly quiet breakfast together. Usually, the mornings were filled with Freddie's ramblings about the day, or anything really, but today Freddie was completely silent. Brian sat smugly at the kitchen counter, forking some scrambled eggs with one hand and leaning on the other. He eyed Freddie with a dopey smile as he only gave him a scowl in return. The other two band members sat there in confusion, unable to decipher the non-verbal conversation between Brian and Freddie. 

Finally, John stood up. "Oh my God, what in the bloody hell is going on between the two of you? You've been giving each other weird looks all morning." 

Freddie sighed but said nothing. Brian continued to look unnaturally pleased with himself as he leaned back in his seat. Freddie eventually grabbed a pen and a napkin, scribbling a message and sliding it over to Roger and John. 

_Brian jinxed me. I can't talk unless he says my name._ The napkin reads, in Freddie's embellished cursive writing. 

"What's 'jinx'?" Roger asks innocently. 

"Basically, when you say something at the same time as someone. You have to say 'jinx' before the other person, and the other person has to say silent until you say their name." Brian explains, smiling as Freddie nods. 

"So, you can't say Fred's name or else he'll start talking?" John affirms. 

"Yep." Brian smiles, sipping his orange juice and pretending to ignore the Freddie was sending his way. 

"What happens if he talks during the jinx?" Roger asks, now completely enthralled in this concept. 

Brian sat there for a moment, thinking. "Then you're boring." He shrugged, eating another forkful of eggs. 

Roger and John looked at each other, mischievous smiles upon both of their faces. How had neither of them heard of this game before? Brian continued to eat his food unassumingly. 

"Anyway," Brian continues, standing up and putting his plate in the sink, "I gotta go now. I'm in the middle of this fascinating book about the planets, and they're just starting to talk about possible life on Mercury--" 

"Suck it, you fucking space nerd! That counts!" Freddie shouts, clearly happy to be able to talk again. He triumphantly slams his mug onto the counter and storms upstairs. Brian laughs before he walks into the living room, leaving only Roger and Deaky. The two glanced at each other again, sharing that same knowing smile. 

_This was going to be fun._

\------------------------------------- 

After his relaxing morning of eating and reading, Brian found himself on the couch, dedicatedly following a cricket match on television. 

The game was between England and Australia; probably the oldest rivalry in cricket history. Brian was absolutely immersed in the match, leaning on his elbows as his eyes fervently watched the ball through the television screen. 

_"Oh come on!"_ Brian hollered with another voice. Brian's eyes widened when he realized that someone else was there, who had just said the exact same thing at the exact same time-- 

"Jinx!" Deaky chirps, happily popping from behind the couch. Brian practically leaped off the couch in surprise. 

"Deaky, come on--" 

"Jinx!" 

"How am I supposed to be quiet--" 

"Jinx!" 

"It's England vs. Australia!" 

"JINX!" John yelled finally, and Brian sat there, silent and defeated. 

He watched the entire game in silence. He would violently clench his fists and mime furiously at the television, but he never talked. He even didn't shout at Deaky when he jokingly said 'Go Australia!'. 

\------------------------------------- 

Freddie lay on his bed, twirling his hair with one hand and holding the phone with the other. Freddie had been at this for almost two hours, teasing and flirting with a man he had met at a bar a few days prior. The awkwardness of the first phone call had died a long time ago, and the conversation was starting to melt into much more sultry. Hell, his shirt was already discarded on the floor. 

Freddie groaned, his hand tracing lower on his body as the man over the phone spoke. _"Shit,_ I wish you were here with me now, d--" 

Suddenly, Roger kicked open the door, the dumbest smile on his face. "--darling!" Roger says right as Freddie had. Freddie screamed in shock, dropping the phone and covering his bare chest with a blanket. 

"Jinx!" Roger bellows. 

"ROGER, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM." Freddie shrieks. 

"Jinx! You gotta stay quiet!" He whispers childishly. 

"I swear to God, you couldn't have picked a worse time--" 

"I said, Jinx!" Roger concludes. 

Freddie sighed loudly but complied. He sat there, holding the phone, as the confused man on the other line wanted to know why he wasn't responding. Eventually, the line went flat and he had hung up. Roger's big, dumb smile remained on his face and Freddie shot him the sharpest, more jaded glare as he skipped out of the room. 

\------------------------------------- 

About a half an hour later, the four men were gathered together in the living room, none of them saying a word. After Roger got Freddie in a jinx and John to Brian, they both started to try and jinx each other. It worked, but they both said jinx at the same time, and thus they were both caught into the net of silence. They were all stuck in each other's jinx. 

Brian, after sitting there in uncomfortable silence for God knows how long, stood up and walked out of the room. He returned with a tape recorder in hand, fumbling with it until a video started to play. 

_"John!"_ Said Roger's voice from the tape recorder. John let out a sigh of relief. 

"Roger and Brian." John said, breaking them from the jinx. 

"Freddie." Roger said finally. 

"Now have we all learned our lesson?" Brian huffs, his voice audibly irritated. John and Roger nodded. 

"No more jinx." The four of them sighed, eyes widening when they realized they had said that statement at the same time. They cautiously eyed one another, seeing if anyone would say it. Everyone stayed quiet, however, so maybe it would be just a peaceful coincidence-- 

"JINX!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these.. idiot boys...
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


	8. goodbye ridge farm!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie, Brian, Roger and John decide to celebrate their last day on Ridge Farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter babey!!!!! everyone enjoy :)

“Cheers, darling!” Freddie chirps triumphantly, downing his champagne glass within a few moments. 

The others clinked their glasses and drank them in the same manner of excitement. After weeks and weeks of laboring, their little project _A Night at the Opera_ had been completed. All their clothing was hastily stuffed in boxes, their instruments were in their cases, and everything they had brought with them was stored away in some shape or manner. They were set to leave tomorrow morning, and the four were _ecstatic_. 

”Cheers to no more days in the basement!” Deaky announced, pouring himself another glass. 

”Cheers to no longer being afraid to stay in the shower for longer than five minutes because of bugs!” Roger smiles, his eyes filled with genuine relief. 

”No more creaky, creepy haunted house doors.” Brian snorts, holding up his drink. They all bellowed with laughter, breaking into merriment and more cheering. 

After the gaiety has died down a bit, the four sat there in comfortable silence. Everyone had wordlessly acknowledged how happy they were to finally finish the album, and thus didn’t feel the need to say any words. That is, until John got an idea. 

“How about we go out with a bang?” John suggested. Brian raised his eyebrow in intrigue. It was rare to see a Roger-sounding statement come from Deaky. “How about we do one thing on the farm that we wanted to do, but we never had the chance or nerve to do.” 

“Ride the tractor!” Roger shrieked, standing up promptly. Ever since their first day here, he had been begging to ride the tractor, but it was always shut down by the others. 

”No.” Brian states. 

”C’mon, Brian. It’s our _last_ day here.” Roger whines, hands dropping to his sides. 

”Have you ever driven a tractor? You’re gonna kill us all.” Brian sneers, swirling his drink. Roger pouts in reply. 

_”Please?_ Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?” Roger begs, tugging at Brian’s shirt. “I even brought the cowboy hats from our tour of America.” 

”Can’t argue with that. The man has cowboy hats.” Deaky nods. Brian groans, placing down his drink. 

”Fine. The minute I hear something crack, however, I’m getting off.” Brian relents, earning a happy squeal from Roger. 

\------------------------------------- 

The four men stood in the musty, weather-worn barn eyeing the rusty tractor. The thing looked like it hadn’t been turned on for years. The vehicle was almost completely rust, with splotches of peeling green paint here or there. The tires were caked in countless years of dirt and mud, and the actual wheel was covered in dust and cobwebs. 

”You want me to go in _that_ pile of crust and take a ride? Look if you want to ride the tractor so bad you can just—“ 

”—no! I wanna ride the tractor.” Roger whines, sounding like a petulant twelve year old. Roger hopped up onto the ripped leather seat, a concerning rattle coming from the truck. The other three groaned, but they followed Roger and climbed on behind him. 

The four were uncomfortably squished together, like books on a shelf; none of them even had an inch to themselves. 

Roger turned the old, dusty key only to hear a sad puttering from the engine. He turned it again, smiling when he heard a promising rumble— which only lasted a view moments and before the engine sputtered out again. 

”Bloody hell.” Roger curses, earning a snort from John. He squeezes past Brian and gets out of the tractor, eyeing the engine. He intelligently decides to kick the hood of the tractor. 

”Roger what are you doing?” Freddie calls, sticking his head out the half-open door. 

”Fixing the tractor!” 

Brian sighs. “So you just expect to kick the tractor a few times for it to just spring to life?” 

Roger skips back into the vehicle, turning the ignition and awaiting the car’s response. After a series of crackling noises, the car—for lack of a better term—sprung to life. Roger looked at Brian smugly, a wide, amused grin tracing his lips. 

”I refuse to give you any sort of satisfaction by saying I was wrong.” Brian says simply. Roger laughs before getting his hands on the wheel and stomping on the pedal dramatically. 

”Here we go!” He yelled, excitedly. The tractor proceeded to move at an achingly slow pace. Roger’s smile quickly began to melt into something less amused. Why was the tractor going so slow? 

”You know I didn’t expect tractors to be like say, a Rolls Royce, but it didn’t expect it to be _this_ tedious.” Freddie hums, eyeing his fingernails in boredom. 

”Can’t this hunk of junk go any faster?” Deaky asks, leaning over Brian to see what Roger was seeing. 

Roger hummed, hitting the brake and pondering as he perused the dashboard. His face lit up when he realized the problem; the tractor was set on the slowest speed. Roger cranked up the lever all the way up to where it said _On Road_ in gleaming red letters. Slamming on the pedal, they were soon racing through the field at a thunderous speed. 

Everyone was screaming and laughing joyfully as Roger rapidly turned the wheel, creating donuts in the middle of the field. When they finally stopped making circles, Roger approached an incoming hill, earning a worried look from Brian. 

”Okay, Roger, that was fun, but maybe we shouldn’t—“ 

Though Roger was _long_ gone. The engine rattled and roared as it scaled up the hillside. Roger pressed harder onto the pedal, launching them off the top of the hill. For a good moment, the tractor was flying through the air, as the three terrified members screamed for their lives. The tractor crashed onto the ground, sending a jolt through all of their spines. 

”Can I get a yeehaw?” Roger bellowed, turning the tractor a sharp right after almost hitting the house. 

”Can _I_ get a break before Deaky loses his lunch?” Freddie screeched, holding John’s head on his shoulder. He looked like he was going to either pass out or vomit. 

Roger snorted, but he soon realized that Freddie was very serious. He placed his foot on the brake, pressing down only to find that the brake wasn’t moving. He stomped on it repeatedly, cursing loudly when the tractor didn’t stop. 

”Why isn’t this bloody tractor stopping?!” Brian yelled, turning to face Roger. 

”The fucking brakes are stuck!” Roger screamed in reply. The tractor was thrusting headfirst toward a large tree, accompanied by the screams and hollers of all four members, along with Deaky’s ill groaning noises. Brian realized that the only way to avoid crashing into a tree and knocking their brains out, they would have to jump. 

”We have to jump!” Brian yelled. 

”WHAT?!” Freddie and Roger screeched in unison. 

”Like some sort of action hero? Like... like James Bond? This isn’t a movie, Brian!” Freddie cries, holding onto John for dear life. 

Brian kicked open the door, leaping out of his seat onto the muddy grass. Roger went after that, and Freddie and John jumped out together. The feral tractor lurched into the tree, completely totaling under pressure. The front of the car was completely folded and damaged, and the tree crashed on top of the vehicle for extra measure. The four sat there, on the dew-ridden at a loss for breath as well as words. 

Brian speaks up first. “That is the _last_ time we ever do anything that Roger says we should do for fun.” The other Freddie and John nodded, and Roger even let out a little ‘That’s fair.’. 

”Okay, but, if we leave quick enough, do you think they’ll even notice the tractor is gone?” John asked. The four members looked around the field. The place was covered in tire tracks and uprooted plants. The feathers and fur of terrified animals running were speckled throughout the entire field, and of course there was the tractor itself, crashed and smoking against a tree. 

”...We can just say robbers did it.” John adds on, and the others nod and agree. 

Besides, they’d probably pay for it in album profits anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA I CANT BELIEVE IT’S DONE HOLY SH IT
> 
> leave ur favorite chapter in the comments!! kudos are also appreciated!!
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie

**Author's Note:**

> comments n kudos are appreciated wink wonk
> 
> tumblr: popcornfreddie


End file.
